One funny video · 12 seconds

When the Video Ends

Joni sees a dancing cockatoo and wants one right away. This is the story that comes after — 52 pictures, made to be read aloud.

Begin the story

WILD Moments · Book 1 of the series · Picture book, age 4+

A phone held in two hands; on the screen a white cockatoo dances against an orange background.

The bird on the screen bobbed its head, threw its wings open and screeched along.

Joni sits on the sofa in the dark living room, his face lit by the phone, his eyes wide.

Joni watched it seven times. The eighth time he whispered, “I want one.”

A school exercise book from above: half-finished math problems and a carefully drawn cockatoo in the margin.

In math he drew a cockatoo in the margin of his book. The teacher said his name twice.

Four children crowd around Joni's phone in the schoolyard; one of them looks away, unimpressed.

At break he showed everyone the video. “Mine will dance just like that,” he said. “Only better.”

Joni brushes his teeth in the bathroom and keeps talking; Mom stands in the doorway with a towel.

He asked at dinner. He asked while brushing his teeth. On Saturday he asked again.

At the kitchen table after dinner, Mom and Dad sit on either side of Joni. Nobody is speaking.

Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at the floor. On Sunday they drove.

The pet shop entrance from a child's height: bright shelves, a guinea-pig pen, a wall of small cages.

The shop smelled of sawdust. At the front the guinea pigs squeaked.

In the dim back aisle a small barred cage sits on a shelf with a motionless cockatoo inside.

Right at the back, between two shelves, stood a cage with a white bird in it.

Joni points at the cage with his whole arm; behind him his parents hesitate. The bird does not turn its head.

It sat still. It didn’t look up. “Mom, Dad, look!” said Joni. “That one!”

In the back seat Joni holds a cardboard pet carrier on his lap and looks through the air hole.

In the back seat Joni held the box on his lap. Every two minutes he looked through the hole.

The small cage stands on a table by a bright window; Joni sits cross-legged in front of it, waiting.

At home they put the cage by the window. Joni sat down in front of it and waited for the dancing.

Close to the cage: the cockatoo presses into the far corner, feathers tight to its body, crest flat.

The bird pressed itself into the corner and shook.

Joni's worried face right against the bars, the empty room and a switched-off television behind him.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” Joni asked. Nobody answered. The bird didn’t either.

A wide, quiet room at dusk: Joni small on the floor, the cage, and a clock in the kitchen doorway.

The room was so quiet that Joni could hear the kitchen clock.

Joni holds the phone with the dancing bird up to the bars; the real cockatoo has turned away.

Joni played the video again, loud, and held the phone up to the bars. The bird turned away.

From above: the untouched seed bowl in the cage, one gray foot at the edge of the frame.

On Monday the seed bowl was full. On Tuesday it was full too.

Joni's open palm on the kitchen table with a few seeds on it, one finger counting them.

On Wednesday Joni counted the seeds, just to be sure. Four were missing.

Joni stands small in the doorway, hands at his sides; Dad looks up from his newspaper.

“Dad,” said Joni. “I think I did something wrong.”

Dad crouches at eye level with the cage, Joni behind his shoulder, both looking at the bird.

Dad crouched down in front of the cage and looked for a long time. “No,” he said. “We did something wrong.”

A dark kitchen, only the laptop lighting Mom's face, a cold cup of tea beside it.

Mom sat at the laptop until past midnight.

Over Mom's shoulder at the screen: a page with a drawing of a large outdoor aviary.

Page after page said the same thing: space, company, something to do.

A sky full of white cockatoos above a eucalyptus forest at dusk.

They found a different video: cockatoos over a forest, hundreds at once, loud as a storm.

Joni stands beside the cage holding his arm out to measure it; the arm is longer.

The cage in the living room was as wide as Joni’s arm. Joni didn’t say anything else.

A hand writing on the back of an envelope at the kitchen table, a phone lying beside it.

Dad wrote three numbers on an envelope. Four meters. Two meters. Two and a half.

The car pulls out of the drive in the morning with an empty trailer, village and mountains behind.

On Saturday they drove out again. This time not to the pet shop.

A timber yard: stacks of squared posts, a roll of mesh, a man loading a trailer, Joni carrying a box of screws.

Posts, mesh, screws. It didn’t fit in the car. The man brought it on a trailer.

In the garden: fresh earth, a dug hole, Joni holding a post upright while Dad shovels.

They dug the first hole in the garden. Joni held the post straight while Dad shoveled.

Rain, both in wet jackets in front of the half-built timber frame of the aviary, a thermos on a stump.

On the second day it rained. They kept building.

The finished walk-in garden aviary from outside in evening light, Dad beside it for scale.

By Sunday evening it stood. Taller than Dad. Wider than the living room.

Inside the aviary, still without a bird: thick branches at different heights, a rope, a swing, a shelter.

They put branches inside, a rope, a swing and a shelter. They left the door open.

The open old cage stands on the aviary floor with the cockatoo still inside it; the family watches.

They carried the cage out into the garden and opened it. He didn’t come out.

Early morning mist: the cockatoo high on the top branch, the empty open cage on the ground below.

He came out in the night. In the morning he sat on the highest branch.

The cockatoo with both wings fully spread on the branch, nothing touching the wingtips.

He spread his wings. All the way. And folded them again.

Joni sits in the grass with a book near the mesh, the bird high behind him; neither is looking at the other.

Joni fetched a book and sat down in the grass. He didn’t read out loud. He didn’t stare. He was just there.

Joni turns his head, the book still open; out of focus behind him something white moves low on the mesh.

After eleven days Joni heard a scratching.

Very close: the cockatoo grips the mesh at head height and looks at Joni, whose face fills the other half.

The cockatoo had come to the mesh and was looking at him, close up. Joni didn’t move until his foot fell asleep.

A wooden bowl on a platform in the aviary, apple pieces in it and a gap where one is missing.

The next morning a piece of apple was gone.

The cockatoo holds a piece of apple in its claw; behind it Joni stands at the kitchen window with a slice of bread.

He held it in his claw and nibbled while he watched Joni. Joni ate his breakfast standing up so he wouldn’t miss anything.

The cockatoo climbs a thick branch, its beak gripping the wood, one foot lifted in the air.

He climbed to the highest branch and looked down. Then back down. Then up again.

Close to the aviary floor: three splintered pieces of wood in the grass, wood chips and a white feather.

By evening three chewed pieces of wood lay on the floor.

The cockatoo very close, crest half raised, beak slightly open, evening light through the mesh.

It was a Wednesday, just before dinner. One small sound. Not a song, not a screech — just a sound.

The family at dinner in the kitchen, Joni half out of his chair, a fork on the floor.

Joni dropped his fork.

A sheet pinned by the aviary door with two drawings of a cockatoo: one loose and fluffed, one thin and tight. Joni looks at it.

Dad pinned a sheet by the door. Loose and fluffed up means: I’m all right. Thin and tight to the body means: please take one step back.

Inside the aviary: Joni's arm is out and his hand is flat, the bird on a branch a little above.

Joni held out his hand and counted to ten in his head.

The cockatoo stands on Joni's forearm, the arm dipping under the weight, his face surprised and delighted.

At seven the cockatoo stepped on. He was heavier than Joni had expected.

The cockatoo hangs upside down from the rope, wings half open, crest fully raised, wood pieces flying; Joni laughs below with his hands over his ears.

He took his toy apart in fourteen pieces, hung upside down from the rope and let himself drop. For the first time he made noise. Real, loud noise.

Mom and Joni stand outside the mesh in the late sun, watching the bird tidy a feather back into place.

“He was never broken,” said Mom. He had only been waiting until it was safe.

Joni and Dad sit in the grass with their backs against the aviary posts, looking out at the garden.

“I thought he was supposed to be funny,” said Joni. “And now?” asked Dad. Joni thought about it for a long time. “Now I have to make sure he’s all right.”

A classroom, children sitting in a half circle on the floor, Joni standing in front of them with empty hands.

At school Joni was allowed to tell the class. He didn’t show a video. He told them about the four seeds.

Mom stands at the kitchen window with a phone to her ear, looking out at the aviary; the single bird small in the distance.

“One is one,” said Mom, and picked up the phone.

A travel crate on the grass by the open aviary door, a second cockatoo stepping out; the first watches from a branch.

In spring a second one came, from someone who could not keep her any more.

Both cockatoos side by side on one branch, preening each other; Joni sits in the grass below, a phone lying face down on the garden table.

For three days they sat on different branches. On the fourth, on the same one. Joni’s phone lay on the garden table, screen down. Then one of them made that small sound again.

End of the story

Did you know?

Cockatoos are very intelligent animals.
A short video doesn’t show their real needs.
Small cages can harm their health.
Cockatoos can live for many decades and need proper care.
They are not toys — they are living, feeling beings.

A note for parents

About the illustrations: the images in this book serve the story — they are not a guide to proper parrot care. Some scenes intentionally show poor conditions to illustrate what a parrot should not experience.

Laws vary worldwide. Before acquiring a parrot you must research the specific laws of your country, region and city. In many countries, keeping a parrot alone, clipping wings, or using an undersized enclosure is illegal and punishable by law. Always consult a local avian vet or parrot welfare organization before purchasing.

A compatible companion

Parrots are flock animals. Keeping a parrot alone causes loneliness, behavioral problems and serious illness. They need at least one compatible companion — this does not have to be the same species, but must be a parrot compatible in size and temperament.

A large, appropriate space

A small cage is never enough. Large parrots need a spacious aviary where they can fly, climb and fully spread their wings. Cage bars must be horizontal to allow natural climbing.

Full use of their wings

Wing clipping is prohibited in many countries and considered harmful by welfare experts worldwide. Parrots need their wings to stay physically and emotionally healthy. If a vet recommends clipping your parrot’s wings — find a new vet immediately.

Enrichment and proper nutrition

Fresh branches, foraging toys and bathing access are essential. Seeds alone are not enough — fresh fruit, vegetables, sprouts and quality pellets are required every day.

A lifelong commitment

Even small species like budgies, cockatiels and lovebirds can live 25 years. Larger species can live 60–100+ years. Bringing a parrot home is not a trend — it is a commitment that may last a lifetime and requires daily time, patience and respect.

Before you buy or adopt

Animal welfare laws specific to your country, region and city
The specific needs of the parrot species you are considering
A reputable local avian vet or parrot welfare organization
World Parrot Trust
ARGE Papageienschutz (Austria)

True friendship with an animal is built on respect, knowledge and real responsibility — not on a short, funny video.

Book 2 is ready for you

“When Home Wasn’t Enough” is Liam’s story and his macaw’s — 52 pages, read the same way as this book, free. Leave your address and the link comes to you.

The click in that mail opens Book 2 and confirms your address at the same time. Unsubscribe any time.

After the story

What is this bird telling you?

Five questions. Every answer is somewhere in this book.

1 of 5

Loose and fluffed up. What is this bird telling you?
And this one? Thin, tight to the body.
He presses into the corner, feathers tight, crest flat. What does he need?
The seed bowl is full. Is that enough food?
A cockatoo, all alone in the aviary. What is missing?

These five questions are no substitute for an avian vet.

This story also exists on paper

“When the Video Ends” is book 1 of five. Each one tells a different way of loving an animal wrong — and how to get it right. Every purchase funds free school visits with real parrots in Tyrol.

See the series

Or reserve the printed edition — no payment now

1 · When the Video Ends
2 · When Home Wasn’t Enough
3 · The Heart That Saw Too Many Colors
4 · When the Parrot Needed Some Peace
5 · Liam’s Song